Achilles' Last Stand
by Bron-Y-Aur-Stomp'in
Summary: Post-No Rest For The Wicked. Sam thinks it over.
1. The Song Remains The Same

A/N: Just had a hankering for some Sammy-angst... Haven't decided yet if it'll be a oneshot or not.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing pertaining to Supernatural.

Enjoy.

* * *

Growing up without a mother hadn't been so bad.

When you didn't know someone to begin with; didn't know their voice or how they smelled, or what it felt like to be kissed by them, what was there to miss? A face? A face from a picture almost too wrinkled to recognize anymore?

Sam Winchester never intended to think of those sorts of things when he went to bed at night. But then again, Sam Winchester never intended to watch his father self-destruct. And Sam Winchester never intended to watch his brother be brutally killed by Hell hounds.

"_Sam?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_I've been doing some thinking… And… Well, see, the thing is… I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to hell."_

"_Alright, yeah... We'll find a way to save you."_

He'd promised. Hadn't he promised? How many times… how many things had Dean sacrificed to keep him safe? How many cuts and bruises had he been rewarded with for saving his little brother's ass? How many of life's precious moments had he been denied?

"_Don't! Dean, I'm not gonna let you go to hell!"_

"_Yes you are! …Yes you are."_

And he had.

"_I'm sorry. I mean, this is all my fault. And I know that. But what you're doing, it's not gonna save me. It's only gonna kill you."_

"_Then what am I supposed to do?"_

"_Keep fighting… Take care of my wheels… Sam, you remember what dad taught you. 'Kay? And remember what I taught you."_

Like how to make a pretty decent sawed-off. How to drive. How **not** to drive… How to keep going. No matter how hard it got, or how much it hurt. How to laugh, and be laughed at, and get revenge for being laughed at. How **not** to pick-up chicks. How to stop caring about the world, for just a little while. How to break out of jail. How to sing, and not give a damn if the sound was enough to shatter a pane of glass.

But there was one thing Dean Winchester had failed to teach his younger brother.

How to let go.

"_Did I die?"_

"_Oh, come on." _

"_Did you sell your soul for me, like Dad did for you?"_

"_Oh, come on! No!"_

"_Tell me the truth… Dean, tell me the truth."_

"_Sam..." _

"_How long'd you get?"_

"_One year. I got one year."_

"_You shouldn't have done that. How could you do that?"_

"_Don't get mad at me. Don't you do that. I __**had**__ to. I had to look out for you. That's my job."_

"And what do you think my job is?"

The words startled Sam into wakefulness, and for a full minute he wasn't sure whether he'd said them aloud or not.

Dreams had a funny way of doing that. Tangling themselves so badly with your reality that it became hard to differentiate… **Sam's** dreams had a funny way of doing that.

He got up from the bed, and the ancient springs groaned their relief. Packing was a quick affair when you'd never unpacked to begin with.

A muffled ringing from somewhere inside his duffle bag managed to catch his attention. But only after he'd waited sufficiently long to ensure it couldn't be anyone else but Bobby.

"Yeah?"

"Sam? Where are you at?"

"I'm in Lawrence, Bobby."

"I thought you were coming out here, Sam? Isn't that what you told me? Look, if you need more time, just say the-"

"I'm coming. I'm on my way."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'll call you.** I'll** call **you**, Bobby."

"Alright, but Sa-"

There was something satisfying in being able to hang up. To just stop whatever was coming. Not deal with it. Not until he was good and ready.

Nostalgia. That was what he experienced every time he sat behind the Impala's wheel. Every time he rifled through Dean's cassettes. And every time he listened to Achilles' Last Stand. Because as long as he had those tapes, and that car… some little part of his brother survived. And it was to that part, he clung. Painstakingly, day in and day out.

Never loosening his grip.

Because Sam Winchester didn't know how to let go.


	2. Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You

A/N: Apparently writing angsty-Sam is a good way of procrastinating doing school work... Who knew, right? So yeah, this chapter is pathetically short, but I needed it to stand alone, and there wasn't really anything more I wanted to add to it. Also, I have no idea where this is headed... So, yeah.

Enjoy.

* * *

"_You told her. You told her? The secret? Our big family rule number one: we do what we do, and we shut up about it. For a year and a half I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple of times, and you tell her everything? …Dean!"_

"_Yeah. Looks like it."_

Sam glanced to the odometer.

As though daydreaming while driving wasn't bad enough, his destination didn't seem to be getting any closer, either. But then again, what did he care? He wasn't exactly pressed for time. Hell, the whole trip could be in vain, and would it really matter?

"_Alright, so maybe we were a little bit more involved than I said."_

"_Oh, okay. Yeah."_

"_Okay, a lot more. Maybe… And I told her the secret about what we do, and I shouldn't have."_

"_No, look, man, everybody's gotta open up to someone, sometime."_

"_Yeah, I don't. It was stupid to get that close, and look how it ended… Would you stop? …Blink or something."_

"_You loved her."_

"_Oh, God." _

"_You were in love with her, but you dumped her! …Oh, wow. She dumped you."_

"_Get in the car… Get in the car!"_

It mattered. It'd matter to her… If he could even find her.

* * *

"Sam?"

"Cassie, hey… Could I talk to you?"

"Sure, of course… Is something wrong?"

Yes. **This** is wrong. Everything's wrong.

"There's something I need to tell you. Ah… Why don't you sit down?"

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Just-please. Sit?"

I'm here to tell you Dean is dead. He sold his soul for me, and then I let him go to hell. But not before promising him I wouldn't.

This is wrong…

"Sam?"

"Dean's dead."

"Excuse me?"

**Dead!**

"He died, Cassie… A couple months ago."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"Yes, you are… You are. Sam?"

"I'm not. Cassie, I'm sorry…"

"…Son of a bitch!"

"_I like her."_

"_Yeah."_

"_You meet someone like her, ever make you wonder if it's worth it? Putting everything else on hold; doing what we do?" _

"_Wake me up when it's my turn to drive."_

"What happened?"

Hell hounds ripped his chest open. They crushed his heart. I watched.

**Everything's** wrong.

"Does it matter?"

It'd matter to her.

"I just thought-I mean, he never…"

"You thought it couldn't happen to him."

So did I…

* * *

Convincing Cassie she was better off not knowing the specifics… that had been easy. Because it **wasn't** going to bring him back. Nothing was bringing him back.

Convincing Sam to bring her to his grave… that had been harder. Because it wasn't going to bring him back. **Nothing** was bringing him back.

But he waited while she said whatever it was she needed to say to end it. To bring her closure. And in the end, he envied her.

Because he didn't know those words.


	3. Dazed and Confused

A/N: I know, another short chapter. It's becomming a trend... On a brighter note, I **do **have the next 5 chapters outlined roughly. So, this story is no longer plodding pointlessly forward in no particular direction with no particular destination. It's now plodding somewhat intently forward in a semi-certain direction... but still has no particular destination. At least Led Zeppelin songs makes for good chapter titles. And you can rock out while writing. ;)

Enjoy.

"_Okay, all right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. Hey, good for you. I'm sure it makes things easier. I'll tell you who else had faith like that - Mom. She used to tell me when she'd tuck me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."_

"_You never told me that."_

"_What's to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power, there's no God. There's just chaos and violence and random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere. It rips you to shreds. So, you want me to believe in this stuff? I'm gonna need to see some hard proof. You got any?"_

"Last call, pal."

"What?"

"Closing time."

Sam left a generous tip for the bartender. The guy'd left him pretty well alone the whole night and kept his glass full. Or, at least, every time he'd come back to reality, it'd been full. And that was all that really mattered. Because dealing with the flashbacks was bad enough **under** **the influence**.

Three years worth of psychology classes told him drinking was only enabling the memories, but three years worth of psychology classes had also told him there were five stages of grief. But he sure as hell wasn't getting any closer to acceptance.

"_So, we didn't get along then, huh?"_

"_No."_

"_I thought it was supposed to be this perfect fantasy."_

"_It wasn't. It was just a wish. I wished for Mom to live. And Mom never died, we never went hunting, and you and me just never… you know."_

"_Yeah. Well, I'm glad we do. And I'm glad you dug yourself out, Dean. Most people wouldn't have had the strength, they would've just stayed."_

"_Yeah, lucky me. I gotta tell you though, man - you had Jess, Mom was gonna have grandkids…"_

"_Yeah, but, Dean… it wasn't real."_

"_I know. But I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since Dad… all I can think about is how much this job has cost us… We've lost so much. We've sacrificed so much."_

"_But people are alive because of you. It's worth it, Dean. It is. It's not fair, and it hurts like hell, but it's worth it."_

It **had** been worth it. When he'd still had someone to share it with. And maybe he was a hypocrite, and it should still be worth it.

But it really just wasn't. Not anymore.

"_Stop it, Sam."_

"_Stop what?"_

"_Stop askin' if I need anything, stop askin' if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise."_

"_All right. Dean, it's just… we've been at Bobby's for over a week now and you haven't brought up Dad once."_

"_You know what, you're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug – maybe even slow dance."_

"_Don't patronize me, Dean, Dad is dead! The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened."_

"_What do you want me to say?" _

"_Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long, buried underneath this damn car!"_

"_Revenge, huh?"_

"_Yeah."_

It wasn't as though the thought hadn't passed through his mind. Wasn't still crossing his mind, at least a hundred times a day.

But the truth was – he was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of barely coming out alive. Tired of giving more than he ever got back.

Just for once, just this one time, why couldn't someone else give? Someone he didn't know. Someone he wouldn't miss with every ounce of his being. Someone he didn't **need**.

"_I'm sorry."_

"_For what?"_

"_The way I've been acting… And for Dad. I mean, he was your dad, too. It's my fault he's gone."_

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_I know you've been thinking it, so have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I had a full recovery. And it was a miracle. Then, five minutes later, Dad's dead, and the Colt's gone."_

"_Dean-" _

"_You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved. I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly. But Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know."_

"_We don't know that. Not for sure."_

"_Sam… you and Dad - you're the most important people in my life. And now… I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now, look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead… You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it. So, tell me… what could you possibly say to make that all right?"_

Sam still had no answer.


End file.
